A Cullen Story
by Holly-Batali
Summary: All 10-year-old Jasper wants for Christmas is a Replica Stonewall Jackson Civil War Confederate Rifle BB gun. The response, from his brother Edward, his foster parents, his teachers, and the pretty Mary Alice from 2 streets over: You'll shoot your eye out
1. Indiana Weather

A Cullen Story  
By Holly-Batali

Disclaimer: I do NOT own anything _Twilight _or _A Christmas Story _related. Sadly, terribly, heartbreakingly, this includes Jasper. *Sobs*

Chapter 1: Indiana Weather

I stood in the snow on the sidewalk, my hands in my coat pockets. I gazed longingly into the shop window, past the cardboard, 'WE'RE OPEN!' sign and the display of meaningless toys and baubles.

And there it was, just as beautiful as it had been yesterday.

My Replica Stonewall Jackson Civil War Confederate Rifle BB gun.

What a beauty.

Sighing, I walked away, back to my house, which was all the way outside of town.

Okay; time out. Lemme introduce myself here.

I'm Jasper. Hi. Jasper Whitlock. I live in podunk little Indiana with my foster parents and my half-brother, Edward Mason (we're _nothing _alike, by the way). I like Civil War history, guns, guitar, and playing with my friends. That's another thing about me: I make friends real quick. One word: charisma.

I'm from Texas, originally. Edward was actually from Chicago (I won't go into that, it's complicated, and I don't feel like wasting the time saying it, because then someone'll ask me to go through it all over again), but our foster parents, Carlisle and Esme, live in Indiana, and so we were brought there...here...whatever.

The biggest adjustment to moving all the way to Indiana was the weather. Back in Texas, it was hot, warm, or stifling. Here in Indiana, the weather was more fickle than a house cat's mood swings (for you non-cat-people, that's pretty fickle).

Put simply: I didn't like snow. At all.

Opening the screen door to our two-story house, I walked inside, letting the door slam shut behind me. I stomped the disgusting snow off my boots and threw them by the door, doing the same with my thick coat. _I hate Indiana._

"Jazzy? Is that you?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, _Eddie._ It's me."

I smiled as I heard my half-brother Edward groaning in the next room. "Don't _call _me that!"

"Don't call me Jazzy," I retorted, smacking him on the back of the head as I passed by the piano, where he was sitting, practicing his stupid music. My brother is such a dork; all _he _wants for Christmas are a bunch of lousy piano books. I ran up the stairs as he chased me, trying to get a punch in, since he might get away with it. After all, Carlisle was at work (at the hospital; he was a doctor) and Esme was a scrabble club, after which she would go to knitting group.

Despite Edward being a dorky little kid with pale skin who doesn't like to go outside, that little sucker was _fast. _I won this time though; slamming our bedroom door in his face, I swaggered triumphantly over to my bed, throwing myself down on the coverlet.

After a moment I rolled over on my side to face the window, looking out with distaste at the falling white flakes.

_I wonder if Mary Alice likes the snow..._

I sighed in a heartsick way as I thought of Mary Alice, our neighbor and my classmate. She was small for her age, but she walked like a dancer, with short black hair and brilliant, cobalt blue eyes. _Sigh._

_I bet she likes the warm and sunny._

_Sigh.

* * *

_A/N: Hello, hello. I'm baaaaack. Well, if you haven't guessed it already, this is a redo of the classic movie (that my family watches almost religiously every Christmas Eve) _A Christmas Story. _Because Jazzy doesn't get enough love anyways._  
_


	2. Meet the Family

A Cullen Story  
By Holly-Batali

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or A Christmas Story. But just to clear things up, this is _not _an exact replica of ACS; this is my own plot...for the most part.

A/N: Many thanks to emoTWiLiGHT, my new beta! ;)

Chapter 2: Meet the Family

I must've dozed off, 'cause I was woken--rather rudely, I might add--by the neighbor's dogs causing a raucous. _Typical. So-o-o typical. _Growling under my breath, I rolled out of bed and stalked over to the window, leaning up against the frame. The Newton's dogs barking usually meant one thing and one thing only:

Carlisle was home.

Let me explain a little bit about my foster dad. Carlisle Cullen is a doctor, and as nice as they come, too. He's a swell guy, sure, but when it comes to those dogs, I swear by my Great-Aunt Hortense's turkey carver that he wants to stick 'em all in the car and dump em in a river. But hey, that's just me. Anyway...where was I...oh, yeah. He's a swell guy and all, but he can be a little weird. I mean, a few weeks ago, he had a few of the other doctors over for dinner, and all they did was discuss the pros and cons of local anesthesia and how it affected lucidity in patients.

Whatever.

So there Carlisle was, walking up the drive, with Billy Black's dogs barking at him, jumping all over him. I snickered as I heard him yelling at them. _"Get outta here you dumb dogs! Beat it pup! Go on, I dare ya!"_

I know this probably makes me a horrible person, but this is my form of entertainment. Aside from _Scout Harrison: Actor by Day, Confederate Spy by Night _comic books, that is.

After Carlisle slammed the screen door behind him, shutting out the growling pack of dogs, I clomped downstairs, purposefully making as much noise as humanly possible. After all, what was life if you couldn't annoy the bajeebers out of everyone?

"Hey Carlisle," I greeted my foster dad, running up to him and giving him a hug. He gave me a big grin.

"Heya Jazzy; how was school?" He ruffled my hair.

I wrinkled my nose. "It stank. School is boring."

He laughed; look, as sappy as this sounds, I _love _it when Carlisle laughs. It's the coolest sound in the world. "Well, in that case..." he checked his pocket watch, a nice gold one--family heirloom, he said. "I'll go make some hot chocolate, and we can go to the living room for tonight's _Abbott and Costello._" I silently cheered; even _Edward _couldn't say no to that.

* * *

Carlisle brought in four mugs of hot chocolate a few minutes later, when Edward and I were both curled up on the couch with the weird-smelling afghan that Esme had knit during the summer. _Speaking of Esme, she should be home any minute, _I thought absently. I liked to keep tabs on my 'family'. It's one of those 'traumatized kids being overcautious,' according to Edward's Great-Aunt Clemence.

As much as I hated snow, cold weather, and Indiana in general, this was one thing I would gladly leave Texas for. Every Thursday night, all four of us would sit in the living room and listen to _Abbott and Costello _together. No exceptions. This was _our _family night, and we never skipped it, not once.

I heard the screen door open and Esme's voice called out, "Where are my boys?"

"In here Mom!" called Edward. He'd adapted fast to foster care, and he really _did _think of Esme and Carlisle as 'Mom and Dad'. I didn't, not really; but then again, Edward is a sentimental kid, so...

Esme bounced into the room, sitting in the armchair by the fireplace; _her _armchair. She gave a sunny smile to Carlisle as he handed her a mug, and then she turned to smile at us.

"Hi boys," she gushed. "How was your day?"

"Fantastic," Edward said optimistically, the same time I said, "Stupid."

She raised a knowing eyebrow. "You'll have to tell me all about it before bed," she told us both, just as Carlisle turned on the radio.

"..._And I say YOU'RE an imbecile."_

_"And I say YOU'RE an imbecile!"_

_"Hey, now what's going on here?"

* * *

_"G'Night Carlisle, 'night Esme."

"Goodnight dear."

"See ya in the morning, sport."

Covering my mouth to hide a yawn, I trudged up the stairs to the room I shared with Edward. I loved listening to Abbot and Costello, but I guess laughing that hard tires you out, 'cause I was bushed.

Edward followed behind me, holding onto the back of my shirt to keep from falling down the stairs. The kid was almost snoring already. _Jeepers, and I thought _I _was tired._

As soon as we reached Edward's bed, he fell onto it with an almighty thud. He was dead to the world before he hit the mattress. Sighing, I bent down and untied his shoes; the kid always wore his shoes around the house. No idea why. I placed them at the end of his bed, just the way he liked them, and pulled the coverlet up over him. _Poor kid. Always looks so helpless._

Yawning so hard I thought my jaw would snap, I shuffled over to my own bed, by the window. I took a few moments to change sloppily into my pajamas, then I fell into bed, pulling the covers up halfway before I decided it was too labor-intensive. I snuggled deep into the soft white sheets, not caring how wrinkled they got; that was Esme's job.

_Replica Stonewall Jackson Civil War Confederate Rifle BB gun. My beautiful Replica Stonewall Jackson Civil War Confederate Rifle BB gun...

* * *

_A/N: Hello hello. Well, today is my one-year anniversary for writing/posting fanfic (yays!) Sooo, any reviews would be GREATLY appreciated. You guys rock!


	3. Welcome to My World

A Cullen Story  
By Holly-Batali

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Any of it, really. Depressing I know, but...you know...sigh.

* * *

To My Reviewers:  
**reader13lovesbooks: **There will absolutely be more Alice; especially in the next chapter ;)  
**JaSpEr'SlOvEr4EvEr:** I laughed so hard at that Y chromosome comment. I totally agree! And yes, everyone else will be in here.  
**emoTWiLiGHT: **Thanks! 10-year-old Jasper _is _adorable. And thank you SO much for beta-ing all my stuff! You rock!  
**DucksOnTheNet12: **thanks for the review! Yes, everyone will be in the next chapter...I think...yeah, they will.

Keep reviewing, guys! You're awesome, and you make my day!

* * *

Chapter 3: Welcome to My World

"Jasper!"

I groaned and rolled over, pulling the blankets up over my head.

"Jasper! Get up!"

"G'way," I groaned.

"Jasper! Come on sweetie, you're going to be late!"

I groaned one last time, then, with a Herculean effort, I got out of bed, forcing myself to go to my personal...um, heck (in case Esme is reading this).

Otherwise known as school.

Welcome to my world.

Grumbling under my breath, I got dressed, brushed my teeth, and was just walking out the door when I remembered 'Plan A'. Quickly grabbing a ripped-out magazine ad for my BB gun, I stole silently into Carlisle and Esme's room. Picking up one of Esme's magazines, I slipped in the ad, positive that she'd see it.

_And then she'll know that _that's _what I want for Christmas. It is, after all, the perfect Christmas gift...or birthday. I suppose Hanukkah or Kwanzaa would be alright too..._

"_Jasper!_"

"I'M _COMING!_" I hollered. "Sheesh!" I stomped downstairs, making sure to skip the last step so I could make a spectacular (Esme would disagree) thud when I reached the bottom. I clomped into the kitchen and practically threw myself into one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

"Jasper," my foster mom admonished me, one hand on her hip, the other holding a bowl of something I really didn't want to identify (I _think _it was oatmeal) in her other hand. "Really dear, do you _have _to bash around like that? A stampede of elephants could be quieter than you." I rolled my eyes, trying not to look at the 'oatmeal'. Esme really has a thing for elephants; Carlisle's always joking that one of these days she's going to run off to Africa and live on Safari.

Which is, of course, ridiculous.

"Here's your breakfast, sweetie," said Esme, putting down the 'oatmeal' and giving me a kiss on the head; I grimaced.

"Aw shucks, Esme. You're embarrassing me."

She gave me a wry look, then turned back to the stove. I grimaced again, this time at the poor substitute for actual food that was sitting in my bowl. _Groooooss. _Edward was politely eating his without complaint, but I could see the way his eye was twitching, and I took of sort of sibling-rivalry pleasure in it.

"So Edward," said Esme, her back to us as she cooked. "What do you want for Christmas?"

Edward's eyes shone. He swallowed, then said, "I've really been hoping for the new piano theory books in the music shop; there's also some sheet music for Claire de Lune, you know, the Debussy tune?"

I snorted. "Puh-lease. _Piano music?! _That's the best you can do?" Edward looked slightly offended.

"Yes, piano music. I'd like to see you do better, _General,_" he sneered. My ears turned red; Edward knew all about my obsession with the gun. _Better than piano music._ _Honestly._

"That's a _very _good idea," admonished Esme. "I'm sure that Santa has a few things for you, Eddie," she said with a wink.

_Oh please, _I thought, rolling my eyes as I tried to battle my was through the fierce breakfast, armed only with a plastic-handled spoon. _Who asks for piano books for Christmas? No one...except Edward. Which is why Santa has absolutely no reason to have any lying around. _Everyone _knows that._

"What about you, Jasper?" asked Esme sweetly. "What do _you _want for Christmas?"

I knew I shouldn't say it. I knew that if I did, she would come up with a million and one reasons for why I shouldn't have one.

But I did anyway.

"I want a Replica Stonewall Jackson Civil War Confederate Rifle BB gun." I said with a grin; then I grimaced. "Ooh," I groaned at my mistake.

"A _gun_?" asked Esme. "Absolutely _not. _You'll shoot your eye out!"

Oh. _So _not fair.

It was the classic Parental Gun Defense. 'You'll shoot your eye out' is what parents have been using for years and years to stave off the gruesome task of presenting sons and grandsons with dangerous firearms, or even sharp pointed sticks.

Parents, after all, were known for their sometimes-perilous cooking, their aversion to direct questions, their bickering, their impatience, and the rationalization. And when it came to their children--even their foster children--asking for something (particularly something that shoots small projectiles at a high speed).

"Tough luck, _Jazzy,_" snickered Edward.

Giving him a sour face, I looked quickly behind me to make sure Esme wasn't looking, then I pulled back my spoon and flicked a dense glob of oatmeal at my half-brother at a velocity that guaranteed satisfaction.

He yelped as it hit him in the eye. "Ow!" he screeched. "Mom! Jasper threw his oatmeal at me!"

I quickly dug into my breakfast, rubbing my stomach for extra measure. "Mmm," I said. "This is great, Esme. First-class." I smirked at Edward and winked; he glared at me.

"Oh Edward," said Esme. She came over and wiped the oatmeal off his face. "Try to be more careful with your food."

Edward sputtered, and I waggled my eyebrows. _Point one for me._

"Off you go, you two," she said, shooing us from the kitchen. "Or you'll be late for school."

After jamming on my coat and boots, I turned to Edward for my entertainment for the morning. Since he was the younger one--and because Esme could get away with it--he always had to wear a thick red snowsuit to 'protect him from the cold'.

I thought this was a bunch of bologna; Edward came from Chicago, he was _used _to the cold. I, on the other hand, was from glorious, sunny Texas, and was therefore suffering much more.

I wasn't going to point this out, of course. If I did, then she would stick _me _in that thing.

I still had my pride; I wasn't giving _that _up.

* * *

A/N: Okay, next chapter is the walk to school, and a school scene, so I'll be introducing...let's see...Alice, Emmett, Rosalie, Eric, Mike, and _maybe _Bella. Thanks to reviewers and to emoTWiLiGHT, my awesome beta.


	4. Me and My Big Mouth

A Cullen Story  
By Holly-Batali

Disclaimer: I don't own _Twilight. _Sorry guys, but it's the truth.

A/N: SOOOO sorry for not updating in ages (a RIDICULOUSLY long time), you guys! Between orchestra (tour, region, state, graduation, two concerts), Script Frenzy, the flu, the hospital, and every other inconceivable thing out there, things have been incredibly hectic (still are!). Hopefully it won't be long before another update. You guys rock!

And many many thanks to SweetoothMegs, who gave me plenty of encouragement to keep writing!!! And also to emoTWiLiGHT, my wonderful, wonderful beta! Enjoy, guys!

Chapter 4: Me and My Big Mouth

Eric, Mike and Tyler were waiting for me outside. As far as human intelligence goes, my friends aren't very high up. Peter, my best friend in Texas, was _way _smarter, but we on opposite sides of country, and letters can only count as so much (besides, who wants to _write _all the time?!)**(A/N: um...me?)**

Eric was a bit of a geek; the only reason he really hung out with us was that he didn't have anyone else to hang out with, but he thought he was doing us a favor. Typical.

Mike was...how should I put this. Mike was the dumbest person I had ever had the displeasure of having to look at. He's like one of those dogs that just wags its tail and drools over everything. To be honest, I've never been totally sure why I ever bothered hanging out with him.

Then there was Tyler. Tyler was a bit of a jock. I say 'bit' because he was a great athlete but he was about as popular as salt wheels.

We just hung out together for no reason at all; we weren't particularly close or anything, but the secret to surviving school is to have connections. If you don't have somewhere to sit at lunch or someone to walk home with, then you've basically painted a target on your back.

* * *

As soon as I walked out the front door, Mike started waving excitedly. "Hey Jasper!" he called. I resisted the urge to go 'woof'. Eric nodded and Tyler smiled.

"So," chatted Mike as we started walking, "just a few weeks until Christmas! Are you excited?! Of course you are, right?!"

"Not really," I said, monotone.

Mike gaped. "What do you _mean _'not really'?! Who doesn't get excited over Christmas?!"

"Me."

Mike looked like he was about to cry; Eric and Tyler snickered, wondering when to tell him I was joking, probably.

"You're not serious!"

"Do I really need to say it a _third _time?"

"Jaaaasssperrrr!"

We all stopped; I groaned and turned around.

Waddling towards us was Staypuffed himself (Edward in a snowsuit). "Wait for me, Jasper!"

I rolled my eyes. Tyler blinked. "Isn't that--"

"Yes."

"But he looks like--"

"Yes, he does."

"You mean your mom--"

"Yes. She did."

"...My God."

"Yes."

By then Edward had caught up and we were off again. I didn't bother slowing down though; if he fell behind then it was his own fault for letting Esme wrestle him into that thing.

"Do you know that if you stick your tongue to a pole in winter it won't come off?" said Eric randomly.

"Bull," said Tyler with a cynical look.

"It's true," said Eric. "I asked my old man about it, and _he _said that your spit freezes it to the metal!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yuh-huh! My old man said so!"

"Then your old man is full of crap!"

"I dare you to say that again!"

"Your old man is full of--"

"Guys!" I yelled, stopping them short. "Shut up, already, will ya?"

"Who died and made _you _king?!" sniped Eric.

"Oh, _you're _one to talk!"

"Shuddup, Tyler!"

I sighed and continued to let them bicker; it was no good trying to get them to do anything else.

"HA HA HA HA HA HA!"

We froze. I knew that laugh; everyone in our elementary school knew that laugh. That was the laugh of Emmett McCarty, the worst bully the state of Indiana had ever seen. He and his toadie, Felix, were always the fear of our town for everyone under the age of whatever age those two were currently at.

"Well, look who it is. Hey there, _Major._"

I turned around to stare at the bully in question. There was Emmett and Felix, dead ahead. Those two, ugly, brutish thugs; a threat to society and preteen life. But since Mr. McCoy was such a big-shot in this town, no one did anything, bunch of disgusting sycophants that they were.

Which is why, of course, I was here.

...More or less.

"Nice to see you too, moron," I deadpanned. 'Major' was the nickname Emmett had given me since I came here; something about me being a Civil War buff and 'trying to act tough', according to him. "Looking as muscle-bound as always, I see."

Emmett sneered. "You bet, shrimp. Wishing you were this tough?"

"I prefer the cranial muscles, thanks."

Emmett looked confused, but plowed on regardless. "Keep smart talkin' and I'll make sure that pretty-boy look of yours gets a major readjustment."

"You could use a tweakin' yourself, Frankenstein. A good lobotomy would do wonders."

"I'm gonna kill you!" Emmett yelled, red in the face. He and Felix rushed us, and we ran for it.

"What'd you do that for!" squeaked Eric, trying to keep up.

"That was pretty dumb, Jasper," agreed Tyler, easily loping beside me.

"We're gonna die! We're gonna die! We're gonna die!" chorused Mike and Edward.

"Shuddup and run!" I shouted from the front. I was the fastest runner out of all of us. Normally, that would be Edward, but as Mr. Staypuff, he wasn't much use. "Tyler, grab Ed, he's about to face-plant," I ordered. Tyler nodded and tossed Edward over his shoulder.

"YOU'RE DEAD, WHITLOCK!" hollered Emmett from behind us. "I'M GONNA KILL YOU, BURY YOU, DIG YOU UP AND KILL YOU AGAIN!"

"Well, aren't _you _the necrophiliac this morning!" I hollered right back at him.

"Jasper!" squeaked Eric in horror.

**"I'M GONNA KILL YOU!!!"**

I rolled my eyes. "Me and my big mouth."

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the delay, guys! Won't happen again! Thanks for being so patient with me. Hope you liked it!


	5. Welcome to My Life

A Cullen Story  
Holly-Batali

A/N: Um...hi? I'M SORRY! I REALLY AM! I'M A TERRIBLE HUMAN BEING FOR NOT UPDATING _**EVER**_!!! So, I'm hoping to d two updates in the next week to KIND OF TRY to make up for it!

***TO EVERYONE WHO'S STILL HERE, YOU'RE SO AMAZING AND NICE!!! CIVIL WAR REPLICA BB GUNS FOR ALL OF YOU!!!***

Chapter 5: Welcome to My Life

School. I hate school, I really do. You get up early, sit at an uncomfortable desk for a few hours, listen to boring lectures, and then don't even get paid for it! I mean, what is the world coming to when a guy can't even spend a morning flirting with the cute girl who sits two seats behind him and one to the left?

I sighed as Ms. Hale wrote out math problems on the blackboard and snuck a sideways glance at said cute girl. Ahhh. Mary Alice Brandon was, without a doubt, the cutest girl on the face of the planet. She had a bob of black hair, the most beautiful green eyes, and the palest skin. Her laugh was music, her smile was--

"Jasper?"

I blinked. _Crap. _Ms. Hale was looking at me expectantly.

"Yes, ma'am?" I queried politely. When in doubt, revert to southern manners.

"Jasper, would you come up and do question three, please?"

"I would love to ma'am," I said 'sincerely'. I got out of my seat and walked up to the board. It was not without some difficulty that I refrained from glaring at Mike and Tyler, who were snickering at me. But then again, that kind of childish behavior is something that _others _my age would resort to. But not me. I--am a gentleman.

Who apparently is also very good at vertical addition.

"Very good, Jasper," Ms. Hale praised me, "you may sit down. Mike, you next." I smirked as I sat back down, very satisfied with the results of the last five minutes. And to top it off, I gave a bright smile to Mary Alice, who was twisting a piece of her hair in her fingers. She smiled brightly back at me and once again I had to stop myself from bursting out, but for a _totally_ different reason this time.

I sat back down in my seat and snuck another look at Mary Alice. I blinked in surprise. She had already completed every math problem in her notebook. _Cute _and _brilliant! I bet she's really nice, too._

Much to my chagrin, I have never actually held a real conversation with Mary Alice. Not that I wouldn't like to, but the opportunity hasn't really arisen. I mean, someone like me has responsibilities. I have to supervise dares, the process of administering the dare, leading the sixth grade in small-time rebellions against Emmett McCarthy, and so on. Time stops for no man, no even me.

But then again, maybe that's a good thing, since having school last even longer would just be adding dead weight.

It's so hard to be me.

* * *

Especially when it comes to sports.

"Whitlock! Pick up the pace!"'

I grumbled under my breath and tried to run faster. I hate PE. It's the physical manifestation of childhood violence. It's only adding to the social threat of--

"MOVE IT!"

"I _AM _MOVING I!" I shouted back, running around the track. The only reason I didn't just flop down on the floor was because I was running just fast enough to stay behind Emmett. As long as I avoid him, I survive. I swear, PE is one big _Lord of the Flies._

"Still running?" snickered Felix, jogging beside me easily. _Stupid athletic types._

"I could say the same to you," I panted.

"Huh?" he asked, stupified.

"Well, it's quite a feat for you to be walking and talking at the same time. This is huge! It's a relatively large step for ape-kind, it's--"

Two seconds later, I was running faster than I'd ever run before.

"Run, Jasper, run!" yelled my friends.

"SHUT UP!"

* * *

Ah, neutral ground.

Music class, a place where we were kept in our seats and had to actually concentrate. Somewhat.

And while Stupid One and Stupid Two were still in this class, they were in the back, with the horns. _I, _in my majestic glory, was the class guitarist. I sat on the side, kind of in front of the piano, which was played by the beautiful Mary Alice. I was the only guitarist in the class. There was a boy who also played, but his family moved, so it's just me. Not that I'm complaining; I get to sit across the room from Emmett and make faces at him while he's playing the tuba.

Today, we were practicing Christmas songs. "Hark the Herald Angels Sing". A classic, yes, but not that impressive with a sixth grade symphony.

"Two measures for nothing," said Mr. Reid, raising his baton. "One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four--"

And then it started. The noise and chaos that is amateur music. But I didn't really mind; I like music, and I like Christmas songs (most of them), so what's not to like?

Scratch that. Obsessive conductors are 'not to like'. "No! Stop! Winds, at five..." I glanced around the classroom, glancing around. We had about thirty kids in the classroom, and all of them had instruments in their hands. Violins, violas, cellos, string basses, flutes, clarinets, trumpets...

"What's your favorite Christmas song?"

I jumped and turned around. I blinked. Mary Alice was leaning over the piano and smiling down at me, waiting for a reply.

"M-Mine?" I stuttered, pointing at myself. She smiled brightly and nodded, her hair bobbing. "U-Um..." I shook my head slightly, trying to think. "Carol of the Bells, probably."

"I like that one too," she said, grinning. "My favorite is Good King Wenceslas."

I smiled goofily. "So--so how long have y-you played the piano?" I said, playing it cool.

"Not too long," she said with a bashful look. "My mom wanted me to learn, but I like ballet much better than the piano."

"You dance?" I asked, grinning. _I knew it._

She nodded again, and her hair bounced around the black ribbon that was holding it in place. "M-hm. I really like to dance. What do you like to do?"

"I like...history," I blurted out, not even thinking. "I really like history."

"Really? What kind of history?"

"American Civil War," I blurted, ecstatic. _She's talking to me! She's really talking to me!_

"That's so cool!" She breathed, her eyes going wide. Then she grinned mischievously. "What was the significance of January 1, 1863?" she asked quickly.

"It was the day President Lincoln delivered the Emancipation Proclamation," I reeled off.

She clapped daintily. "That's so cool! That's really the only war fact I know." She sighed. "That's so cool. Not that many guys are into academic stuff like history. You seem pretty good at math, too."

"You're pretty good at math yourself."

She grinned. "Thanks!" Then she blinked. "Um...I don't think we've ever really talked before." She held out her hand, beaming. "I'm Mary Alice," she said. "You can call me Alice."

I took her hand gently. "Jasper," I said.

"Nice to meet you Jasper." Then she grinned again. "You need a nickname....mmm...can I call you Jazz?"

"Absolutely," I said seriously.

I'm dead. That must be it. I died and went to sixth-grader heaven.

Wait, no. I don't have my gun.

Shoot.


	6. I TRIPLE Dog Dare You!

A Cullen Story  
By Holly-Batali

Disclaimer: As sad as it is, I don't own Jasper. (Or _Twilight, _but that's not all that sad).

A/N: I plan to rewrite the first few chapters this month, just so you know. But I'll be doing that _while _I update new chapters.

Chapter 6: I TRIPLE-Dog Dare You!

Recess: the one time in the day when kids were allowed to run around and go wild. And while I didn't exactly encourage such Neanderthal behavior, it was good to have time to unwind. Personally, I liked to think of this short reprieve as a recess from Congress of something of the sort. Because that's exactly what it seemed like: everyone running around, talking nonstop, arguing, trying to decide who's really boss, and basically being freakishly dysfunctional and childish while remaining within the boundaries of the law.

Here at Meyers Elementary, we students took recess rather seriously. We could talk about radical and rebellions things such as faking sick and not doing our math, things could very well get us arrested if we were overheard.

Take today, for example. Tyler and Eric were still on about that 'tongue-on-the-pole' business. The day before, Mike had mentioned that he heard that if you stuck your tongue to a pole in winter, it would stick. Eric went home and asked his old man about it, who said that it was true, and then Tyler said that it was a bunch of crap. SO here we were, out in the snow, surrounding the school flag pole. I was in the front, with the three idiots who started the whole thing.

"I'm tellin' ya, it'll stick like glue," Eric was saying pompously. "My old man said that once he saw one of the Quileute boys stick their tongue to the railroad tracks on a dare and it stuck. They had to get the fire department to come and get it off, and the guy ran off, crying like a dog."

"Yeah right," said Tyler, sneering.

"Yeah?" continued Eric. "Well I dare ya."

Eyebrows raised and eyes widened. Finally, something interesting.

"Oh please."

"Yeah? Well I double-dare ya."

Tyler scoffed. "Stick my tongue to that stupid pole? That's dumb."

"That's cause you know it'll stick." Eric had his classic rat-face on, the face he only wore when he knew he was about to go up in the ranks.

"You're full of it!"

"I double-DOG-dare you!"

Oh-ho, _now _it was serious. A double-dog-dare. What else was there but a "triple dare you"? And then, the coup de grace of all dares, the sinister triple-dog-dare.

Eric sneered in triumph. "I TRIPLE-DOG-DARE YA!"

There was a collective gasp. Eric had created a slight breach of etiquette by skipping the triple dare and going right for the throat! There was no refusing a triple-dog-dare. My chest contracted slightly as I looked on with wide eyes. Not that I was interested, or anything.

Tyler had frozen, his face frozen in tentative surprise. He had been cornered and he knew it. He decided to play it cool. "Alright, alright," he said, shoving Mike to the side and sticking out his tongue towards the gunmetal-grey pole, his lips curled in a defiant sneer.

"Hurry up!" Yelled Eric.

"I'b goin', I'b goin'," rebuffed Tyler, swatting at Eric.

There was dead silence around the pole, the far-away sounds of playing children far off to our right, seemingly from a different time and place. We held our breath as one, waiting for the end result.

He thrust his tongue forward and touched the pole. We waited. Tyler rolled his eyes and started to pull away. "Dith ith dum--" He stopped, eyes wide with confusion. "Thtuck," he said quietly, pulling harder, his tongue stuck fast. "Thtuck, thtuck! THTUCK!" He started screaming the word as a four-year-old girl might, frantic with panic, windmilling his arms wildly. Everyone, most of all Eric, stared on with morbid fascination, eyes wide.

In the distance, we could hear the bell ringing loudly, calling us back to our brick-and-wood prison known as school. Those in the back of the crowd dispersed immediately, quickly followed by those in front of them, until only the four of us remained. But as the rest of the school filed in, Mike and Eric tripped after them. I hesitated; my Confederate loyalty was rooting me to the spot, but my school-boy duty was pulling me towards Ms. Hale's classroom. I made my choice and turned tail.

"Dathper, come back, come back Dathper," whined Tyler, tears forming in his eyes.

I hesitated again, my feet digging into the snow. "But the bell rang," I said in final truth.

"Bud whad about me?" shrieked Tyler.

"I dunno, the bell rang!" And with that I ran for it, Tyler's screams for my return still ringing guiltily in my ears. _Stonewall Jackson wouldn't have run, _a voice said in the back of my mind. _Tough luck, _I returned, taking the schoolhouse steps two at a time. _I'm not Stonewall, and I don't have a gun._

But I _should. _All the more reason to get my BB gun. To defend the weak and serve justice.

But that would have to wait until after school. We had English next.

* * *

"Where's Tyler?"

Tyler? Tyler who?

"He was at recess, wasn't he? Has anyone seen Tyler?" Ms. Hale repeated, glaring at the room as a whole. She turned to me. "Jasper? Have you seen Tyler?" I nodded my head innocently, my eyes wide with 'confusion'. "Has _anyone _seen Tyler?" Ms. Hale repeated icily. There was a tentative raise of hand in the front. "Yes, Angela?" There was a moment of silence and a small finger-point from Angela. Ms. Hale turned to the window, her jaw going slack.

"Oh my God!" She yelped, rushing to the window, the whole class (sans Mike, Eric, and myself) following. I could see through my squinted eyes the flailing form of Tyler, still stuck fast to the pole. Ms. Hale rushed out of the classroom and outside, tottering quickly in her tall black pumps. She reached Tyler and started talking to him frantically.

I sighed and put my head in my hands. "Oh no," I muttered under my breath.

"Holy cow, it's the fire department!" yelled one of the boys in our class. I flinched. Not ten seconds later, "Oh wow, it's the cops!" I winced. Badly. I peeked out from between my fingers at the scene unfolding outside the window: three firemen and a policeman surrounded Tyler and Ms. Hale, who was frantically trying to rip Tyler away from the pole. It must've hurt a lot, guessing by the way Tyler was clinging to the pole. There was a pause, then he was pulled away from the pole, and the class burst into cheers.

Less than two minutes later, Ms. Hale and Tyler walked back into the room, Tyler's tongue heavily bandaged and sticking out of his mouth. Ms. Hale glared at the room again. "Now I know that some of you put Tyler up to this, but he has refused to say who. But those who did it know their blame, and I'm sure that the guilt you feel is far worse than any punishment you might receive. Now, don't you feel terrible? Don't you feel remorse for what you have done? Well, that's all I'm going to say about poor Tyler."

Eric, Mike, and I nodded sagely, trying (and in Eric's case, failing) not to smile. Tyler sat down and that was the end of it. Well, unless you counted a silently sniggering Mary-Alice in the corner.

* * *

A/N: Aaaaaaand, there's chapter 6. I hope none of you give anyone a dangerous triple-dog-dare over the holidays...well, at least not without sending me footage. ;) If I don't update before Friday, happy holidays all!


	7. Manly Things

A Cullen Story  
By Holly-Batali

Disclaimer: I don't own Jasper or anyone else. Copyright goes to S. Meyer.

Chapter 7: Manly Things

"So did it hurt?"

"Nah, i' wa' no'in'."

"Wow," Edward breathed. "You're so cool, Tyler!" His stupid green eyes were about as big as Christmas ornaments as he tottered after Tyler, his snowsuit restricting his movement to the point where he had to toddle to move.

I rolled my eyes, thinking only of a note that I had gotten at the end of class. It had been on tan paper and smelled like cinnamon and citrus. _I like molasses cookies. _Ahh, sweet Mary-Alice. I decided to put in my two bits anyway. "Yeah, if getting every nerve in your tongue burned off with 175-degree liquid, because someone in the truck drank the water and they had to use coffee, then yeah, that's really cool." Eric and Mike snorted in the background as Edward frowned.

"You're so mean, Jazzy," he whined.

"Shut your girly mouth, _Eddie._"

"Don't call me that, you big meanie--"

"HA HA HA HA HAAA."

We came to a standstill in the alley. There, in front of us, in his stupid hillbilly hat, was Emmett McCarthy. Him and his stupid yellow eyes. I mean, what kind of homosaepian goes around with cheese-eyes? Honestly.

"You think _Whitlock's _a meanie?" He sneered at Edward. "I'll show you how a real meanie acts!"

And there went every last speck of intimidation he had in him. I rolled my eyes. "Oh for the love oh...Look, McCarthy," he turned to look at me, confusion written all over his ugly Neanderthal mug. "If you're going to threaten us, at least use some brain power."

"What?"

"Look, ugly, I know you have the IQ of a turkey, but please. 'Meanie'? I mean, an eight-year-old saying it is one thing, but a twelve-year-old? Man up, McCarthy!"

"I'M GONNA KILL YOU!"

"JASPER!!!" Chorused four angry, high-pitched voices.

"WHAT?! It's the truth! He--"

"I'M GONNA KILL YOU, WHITLOCK!"

"_Good_bye."

And so begins the chase.

Again.

* * *

And there it was! The--huff--mailbox! Oh, the beautiful--huff--mailbox!

I ran for it. That mailbox was the end-point. Once I reached that mailbox, I was safe. It was one of the unspoken laws of guys. If you reached your own property, you were safe. Edward would just have to fare for himself.

Yes!

I threw myself at the flimsy metal and wood structure, hugging it like it was the very manifestation of Texas. "S--" huff "Safe!" I opened the mailbox--nothing--slammed it shut, then stumbled to the front door, collapsing in the entryway, right on my face.

About two minutes later, the door opened again and Edward collapsed on the floor, right where I had been. 'Had' being the key word. I was now sitting at the top of the stairs, smirking down at my adoptive brother. "Out of breath already?"

He pouted (because Edward is such a wuss-puss that he is incapable of glaring or even sneering). "D-Don't be so...mean..." he collapsed on the floor, panting. Like I said; wuss-puss.

"Oh go play your show tunes," I mocked, hopping up and heading for the kitchen. "_I _will be in the kitchen, doing _manly _things."

"Like what?"

"_Manly things, Eddie._"

I closed the kitchen door and barricaded it with a chair. _Manly things._

I reached for a book on the shelf and pulled it out, flipping through.

_Manly things. Manly things._

Aha! The recipe for molasses cookies.

_Manly things. I am doing manly things...manly things._

_...Where _are _all these ingredients, anyway?

* * *

_

_"I'm home!"_

Oh crap. I shoved dishes into the sink and kicked the fire extinguisher under the table, hoping the overpowering smell of molasses would hide the smoke smell.

_"JASPER WHITLOCK CULLEN!!!"_

"Holy--" I quietly let loose a stream of expletives that not even Carlisle could rival (even though most of them came from him). "What is it?" I called innocently, tossing a still-flaming tray of 'cookies' out the kitchen window and tossed the tablecloth over the flour that covered the floor.

"Why do I smell smoke?!"

"Smoke?" I tossed a charred oven mitt out into the snow. "I don't smell anything."

_Crap, crap, crap, crapcrapcrapcrapcrap._

"Jasper! Did you break the door?!"

Oh shiz, I forgot about the barricade.

"Um, no?" Craaaaaaap. "One sec, Esme."

"Step away from the door, Jazzykins." I stopped. There was only one situation that would make her say something like that. She was _pissed._

_Oh shi--_

"HIYAAA!"

And then there _was _no door.

Have I mentioned that Esme studied Judo in a temple in Cleveland? She was top of her class.

She took one look at the remains of her beloved kitchen and pointed to the stairs.

"Bed. Now."

"Yes ma'am." And out I went.

I shut my bedroom door and hid under my bed, hoping she would find it in her to forgive me. Did I love Mary-Alice? Absolutely. Did I love her enough to anger Esme?

Hm...

Maybe not.

Maybe I'll just _buy _her some cookies.

They'd be edible.

And no one would have to die for them.

* * *

A/N: Well, there is the MUCH DELAYED chapter 7. I know I'm a crappy updater, but reviews would be mucho appreciated.


	8. A Theme

A Cullen Story  
By Holly-Batali

A/N: Um...hi? Ah! Don't hurt me! I'm sorry for the wait! *runs from pitchforks and paperbacks while screaming: "at least I managed to spell schizophrenia right without checking!"

Disclaimer: I do not own _Twilight _or _A Christmas Story._ Or Jasper, unfortunately. Or shock therapy or schizophrenia. Though I DO own lots of meds ^^ Hurray for medically inept people!(?)

Chapter 8: A Theme

School the next day was a nightmare-the snow had piled up to two feet (honestly, it was taller than Edward) and it was bitter cold out. Not wanting a repeat of the pole incident, we kept a close eye on Eric and Tyler.

Worse still, Mary Alice's cookies were destroyed and Christmas was just over a week away and now I had nothing to give her. _Sigh..._Oh what a world's quandary...

"Whatcha thinkin' about?"

In my-totally justified-surprise, my hand slipped and let my head bang on the desk. With a yelp I reared back-

And fell right out of my chair and into Tyler seat.

...Where he happened to still be sitting.

"JASPER! What the heck?"

"It wasn't my fault!"

We were cut off by a tinkling laugh from the wonderful culprit.

"You're hilarious Jazzy!"

_Jazzy...she called me Jazzy..._

_From her, I'll take it any day._

"Nothing much," I said in response to her earlier question, covering Tyler's mouth-such words should NOT be said in a lady's presence.

"Oh? You looked pretty serious."

I smiled. "Yeah; I guess I probably did."

_

* * *

_"...and then, she said I was the most amazing person she'd ever met, EVER."

"So what?" said Edward through a mouthful of pasta. "That girl in my class, Isabella, said that she liked my music."

"Isn't she the one who has multiple-personality disorder and schizophrenia?" asked Jasper with a rude smirk.

"She does not!"

"She narrates everything! Out loud!"

"That just shows that she's a creative person!"

"It shows that she's a schizophrenic person!"

"Boys," Esme chided as she reached for more pasta. "I'm sure they're both lovely _sane _girls. Have some garlic bread."

"You know," Carlisle chimed in after a moment, "I think I've met this Mary-Alice girl. What was her last name?"

"Brandon," I said happily. "Mary-Alice Brandon."

"Right, right! I work with a relative or her's-ah um...something like her father's cousin's brother's nephew or something."

"What does he do?" I asked excitedly. It was probably something great, like brain surgery or transplants-or amputation!

"Electric shock therapy," Carlisle answered cheerfully.

"...Oh."

* * *

"I want you to write...a theme."

I groaned and banged my head on the desk, along with everybody else (minus the head-banging).

"The theme," Miss Hale continued, "will be: 'what I want for Christmas'-It's due tomorrow, one page, _no skipping lines, _and no large handwriting-_Emmett._"

This was perfect! I would write about my gun, my beautiful wonderful Replica Stonewall Jackson Civil War Confederate Rifle BB gun. And then, overwhelmed by it's sheer awesomeness (the gun and the theme), Miss Hale would give me an A++++++++++++++++++ and then Mary-Alice would love me forever!

Love, ah love! It was brilliant!

* * *

"...drifting love. I am but a charred piece of driftwood floating along your current. The thunderbolt of your beauty has struck me. I am bu a driftwood, being splintered by the rapids..." I was in ecstasy as I ran home, dreaming of the results my theme would bring about.

"And I'll have the gun _and _the girl!" I sang happily. Oh yes; this was going to turn out beautifully...

As soon as I got home it was straight to my room and straight to work. As I pulled out my notebook and pen, I contemplated the wonders that would soon come my way.

And all through a theme.

Too easy.

* * *

"'What I Want For Christmas by Jasper Whitlock. What I want for Christmas is a Replica Stonewall Jackson Civil War Confederate Rifle BB gun.' Oh, that's good. 'I think that everyone should have one, because they are extremely useful and amazing. Furthermore, quid pro quo, per se, it's what every child wants for Christmas, and in order to have a happy society...'"

* * *

"I have graded your papers, and will now be handing them back."

Oh the excitement! I could practically TASTE the domination, the sheer awesomeness!

...

Wait a minute.

...That...That's not...

C-

...

...

"Whoa! Jasper!"

"Miss Hale! Jasper fainted!"

"WAH!"

"Jasper?"

* * *

And so I was completely HUMILIATED. In front of EVERYONE! Including Mary-Alice! How in Lee's name would I ever redeem myself?

As I walked home-by myself-I contemplated all these things. It would need to be something big, something impressive, something-

"Hey! Whitlock! Can't believe you fainted!"

I restrained my mouth. Why now, of all times."

"Shut up, Emmett, I'm not in the mood."

"Oh, the poor baby."

"Know what? You can-"

Wait a minute.

Eeeeeeexcellent.

* * *

A/N: What does Jasper have in store for our poor stupid Emmett? And how will he ever redeem himself?

Speaking of redemption... *yelps and runs away from angry peoples* !


	9. High Expectations

A Cullen Story  
By Holly-Batali

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. Or Jasper (that's really the only one that makes me sad).

Chapter 9: High Expectations

"Esme! I'm home!"

There was no immediate answer as I walked in the door and threw down my things, but after a moment there was a thud and curse and a crash.

"She's in the attic," I said, turning to my tag-along.

"...Right."

I led said companion up the stairs and then to the collapsible staircase. "You're gonna want to stand back," I said as a warning. As I climbed into the attic, arms ready to shield myself (this was Esme's "Personal Dojo", after all), I noticed three things: one, there was a pile of shattered class where the one of the floor-length mirrors was supposed to be; two, Esme's sparring gear was littered about the room; and three, Esme herself was hanging by her sock outside of the window.

"Esme!" I yelled in dismay and frustration, running over to the window and pulling up his foster mother.

* * *

"Phew! Sorry about that, boys!" Esme laughed as Jasper bandaged her forehead. "I was trying out a new bō staff kata and I got so into it I didn't check my space!" She laughed and ruffled Jasper's hair. "Sorry about that, Jazzy."

Jasper sighed and shook his head. He pointed to his "companion". "Esme, this is my min-friend from school."

"Hiya! Nice to meet you!" Esme held out her hand, smiling. "What's your name?"

"Um, Emmett. Emmett Till."

"Emmett, huh? Nice name! I have hot cocoa and molasses cookies in the kitchen, why don't you have some?"

"Huh? Th-thank you...sure."

Jasper smirked discreetly. _So, the mighty Emmett Till is cowed by a not-even-trying Esme. Hah! This is great.

* * *

_

_"What do you want, Emmett? I'm in a really bad mood."_

_"Get real, Whitlock! I'm gonna beat you to a pulp!"_

_Jasper sighed. _Neanderthals will be Neanderthals, I suppose.

_"Alright, alright. Go ahead. BUT-if you're going to beat me to a pulp, I want something in return."_

_"...Wait, what?"  
_

The two boys sat in the kitchen and ate in silence. "Your mom's a good baker," Emmett muttered gruffly.

"Foster-mom."

"What?"

"She's my foster mom, not my biological one."

"...Okay."

_He has no idea what I'm saying._

"She's my adopted mom. Not my real mom."

"Oh."

Neanderthal.

_"You want me to do something for you?"_

_"Mm, basically, yes."_

_"Uh, like what?"_

_I sighed. Honestly, was there no other way to do this?_

_"Look, Emmett, all I want you to do is convince Esme to get me a BB gun. That's all."_

_"Who?"_

_"My foster mom. Look, it'll only be a temporary arrangement, but I'm kind of running out of ideas. So if you, "Mr. Tough-Guy", can convince her that I can handle a BB gun, maybe she'll loosen up and come 'round. Deal?"_

_"So I just say you need a BB gun and then I can beat you up?"_

_"...Yes, Emmett, that's about the gist of it."_

_Dear God, I'm so screwed._

"Soooo, do I tell her now?"

"What? No! If you go straight in for the kill then she'll know what's up!" She'd backfist/side-kick combo me to Houston!

"...Okay, how about now?"

"You know what? You need some training."

"For what?"

"Tact."

"What's tact?"

Oh God help me.

* * *

"Okay, so when you're trying to convince people, don't go straight in. Be patient, don't rush."

"Why not?"

"'Cause it's stupid, now shut up and listen.

"When you're buttering someone up for something-"

"Why would you do that?"

"What? Because-"

"Huh? Really? Smearing butter on people will get-"

"Wha-No! It's a figure of speech, moron. Shut up."

"...Okay." He seemed a little confused; I can't blame him: the bully was now being cowed by the victim.

_Ah, irony, how I love thee. _

_When you work in my favor, otherwise, you're a total jerk-wad._

"Soooo you just want me to be friendly to your mom-"

"Foster mom."

"-Your foster mom so that she'll get you a gun?"

"A Replica Stonewall Jackson Civil War Confederate Rifle BB Gun, yes."

"...You won't kill me, right?"

"What? No. No, I won't kill you." _Although... _"Unless you betray me, that is."

"Be-what?"

"Unless you beat me up before I say you can."

"...So you'll kill me if I beat you up before you say I can?"

"Not me, noooo. But the spirit of Stonewall Jackson will." _Sorry Stonewall, but it must be done. _"You see, his restless spirit wanders around this nation, still fighting for the Confederacy. And part of that fight is protecting Southerners-"

"I thought you were from Texas."

"...Yeah, that's in the South."

"Oh."

"And Texas was part of the Confederacy, so even though he was from Virginia, he still protects people like me, from Texas. So if you break your promise, he'll come after you, Emmett."

"...What's a Confidency?"

"...Oh screw it. Just do what I say, alright?"

"So if I do what you say, I can beat you up later?"

"Yes."

_Well _that _would have saved me about ten minutes if I told him that from the start. Honestly, I expect too much of these lower life-forms._

_Time for Phase 1.

* * *

_A/N: Hello. To everyone who is still reading this, I love you so much! You rock! BB guns and Confederate flags for all! Reviews are read and re-read, I love them (and you, readers!) to death!_  
_


	10. A Little Thing Called Tact

A Cullen Story  
By Holly-Batali

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Really, I would only want Jasper and Alice -.-

A/N: I have the entire story planned out now, and will finish it over Christmas break. I apologize profusely for the ridiculous and unforgivable wait. I have had absolutely zero self-motivation for a long time now, but I am determined to finish this story (and my others)! Please continue to cheer me on ^^

Chapter 10: A Little Thing Called "Tact"

"Now say a cute girl asks you: 'does this skirt make my butt look fat?' What do you say?"

"Uhh...yes?"

"Wha-NO! That's _not _what you say! You say 'no, of course not!'"

"But what if it _does_?"

"That doesn't matter; you tell girls what they want to hear. Period."

"But _why_?"

"I don't know! That's just he way they are, okay?"

"But it's _confusing_!"

"So are Asian politics, but you don't see _me _complaining!"

_Sigh_. Teaching Emmett tact was the hardest endeavor I'd faced since trying to get Edward to play rock and roll on his stupid piano (I never did succeed, by the way). He just didn't _get it_! I mean, it's really easy to understand-seriously! Time for a new approach.

"Let's pretend that...your dad. He asks you if you broke his lamp; what do you say?"

"Did I break it?"

"Yes."

"Duh, I say no!"

"Why?"

"Because I'd get grounded if I say yes!"

"_Exactly_! That's tact! Tact is _sensitivity_. You need to be careful about how other people are going to react to what you do and say."

"Oooh. I think I get it."

"Perfect! Time for practical application."

* * *

"Does this make my butt look big?"

"No, of course not!"

"R-really?"

"Yeah!"

"...You didn't even look at me."

"Buuuut isn't that what you wanted to hear?"

"..."

* * *

"Tact also means not _telling _her you're using tact."

"But she didn't have to slap me!"

"Yeah, well, girls have a habit of doing whatever they want."

"No kidding..."

"But that _is _an impressive bruise, you gotta admit."

"Yeah, a bruise from a _girl_. Hey! I could use tact and say that I got into a fight with a cage fighter!"

"...There's a difference between tact and lying..."

_Wait. _Using the bruise for our advantage. That would work!

"Emmett, we're going to try a different approach."

* * *

"Oh my _goodness_! What happened to you, Emmett?"

"Oh, hi Ms. Esme. I got attacked today by a crazy guy."

"A crazy guy? Who was it?"

"Gosh, I don't know. If Jasper wasn't there though, I might be dead."

"Jazzy?"

"Yeah, he dis...discr..."

"Distracted," I whispered discretely.

"Yeah, that. He distracted the guy so I could get away."

"Oh, _Jazzy_! I'm so proud of you!" She ruffled my hair; I hate it when she does that.

I sighed. "Yeah, well, I'm afraid that since all we could do was run away, he'll continue to harass poor kids like us. If only we had some way to defend ourselves..."

"Yeaaaaah," Emmett agreed. "If only Jasper had a BB gun, then we wouldn't have to be afraid anymore."

Esme blinked; then she smirked. "Is that what this was about? I wondered. You'll shoot your eye out, Jazzy-poo!" She called over her shoulder, waving jauntily as she walked away.

_Curses!_

"Uh, Jasper, I thought you said there was a difference between tact and lying..."

"Oh shut up."

* * *

"Hey, Carlisle, did you hear about that robbery at the Newton's?"

"Robbery? What robbery?"

"Yeah, gee, there was a guy that broke into the Newton's house the other day and made off with their skiis and a radio."

"That's awful!"

"Yeah well," I sighed and shook my head in "despair". "Even though they own the sporting goods store, it's still going to be expensive to replace those skis."

Carlisle shook his head, sighing. "No kidding; those suckers are expensive."

_IN FOR THE KILL!_

"If only they had something to defend themselves with, like, a BB gun. Then they could have chased him off."

"A BB gun?"

"Yeah! I mean, think about it: it's perfectly humane-you're not really _injuring _anybody-and but it's dangerous-looking enough to scare off intruders. I think _every _family should have one!"

"Even us?"

"Oh yeah! You know, right now at Forks-you know, the toy store?-they have this great deal on a Replica Stonewall Jackson Civil War Confederate Rifle BB gun, I think it would be _perfect_!"

"Huh." He looked away thoughtfully; this is why I talk to _Carlisle _about these things, he's so much easier to manipulate than Esme. "I think I'll talk to Esme about this."

"Great idea, Dad! After all, it _is _for the sake of family protection."

"You're right! Hold on a minute." He jumped up, jogged upstairs, and went to talk with Esme. I pumped my fists and did a little victory dance. _I'm so close to victory! Oh, Stonewall, please help me out here!_

Carlisle came back downstairs, shuffling awkwardly. _Uh oh._

"Um..."

"Well? Did she say yes?"

"Uh, well, her _exact _words were: 'there's no way in hell, he'll shoot his mother-loving eye out', but-women! You never know what they really mean, you know?" He laughed awkwardly.

I decided it was time for a new approach.

* * *

A/N: So, what did you think? Any suggestions, questions, comments, are welcome. If you don't want to review, just send me a PM and I'll answer ^^ The next chapter is already in the works and will be uploaded ASAP!


	11. Appeal to Cuteness

A Cullen Story  
By Holly-Batali

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: GYAAAAAAAH! *pulls out hair in frustration* ZERO INSPIRATION! WRITER'S BLOCK FROM HELL!

Chapter 11: Appeal to Cuteness

It was a last-ditch effort, a last chance for my peacemaker, the one and only BB gun, the grail of all holy grails! I'm a proud man of Texas, I do _not _grovel, I do _not _beg, and I most certainly do NOT act like a cutesy five-year-old.

Oh well.

My genius strategies had failed me time and again, and now the only trump card I had left was _Emmett, _for crying out loud. But failure was not an option; I would not let Stonewall down!

So this was my last plan; my last hurrah:

The Appeal to Cuteness. Humiliating, but effective. And oh so deadly to women.

It wasn't ideal, no, but everything else had failed me thus far. And it couldn't hurt my case to at least _try._

I started first thing the next morning; I got out of bed, brushed my teeth (making sure to leave a smudge of toothpaste on my cheek) and went downstairs without combing my hair.

It worked like a charm; I walked into the kitchen yawning and blinking. Esme looked up from the stove and smiled, giggling. I rubbed my eyes; she practically melted, the silly woman.

"Oh, Jazzy, are you still tired, sweetheart?"

I grunted and nodded, yawning again. Esme squeed and rushed over, tidying my hair., muttering something along the lines of "just so _cute_!"

"What do you want for breakfast, sweetheart?" She asked.

"Um..." I pretended to think. "Oatmeal sounds good!"

Esme blinked in surprise; I had never liked oatmeal, always complaining that it was a cheap rip-off of grits, the real breakfast of men. But it was all according to plan...

"I thought you hated oatmeal?" She queried, confused.

"Yeah, but you make it taste good!" I said with a grin.

If she hadn't melted before, she was a puddle now. She squealed and crushed me in a bear-hug (_dang, she's strong!_) then let go so she could make my breakfast. As soon as her back was turned, I smirked and took my seat at the small kitchen table. _Stage one, complete. _When I finished, she would be putty in my hands, mold-able in favor of the great Stonewall Jackson.

"Here you go, Jazzy~" she practically sang (silly woman) and set the oatmeal in front of me. "You're just so _cute_!" she squealed again, ruffling my hair. "You eat up, I need to go pull your brother away from the piano, or you'll both be late!" She pranced off, leaving me alone to my victory.

I smirked...

_Wait..._

_Now I have to actually _eat _it._

_...I hate oatmeal._

* * *

"No!"

"Emmett, come on-"

"NO!"

"Look, I'm not asking you to prance around in a tiara-"

"What part of NO doesn't clearly scream NO?"

"We have a deal!"

"_NO_!"

"Oh for the love of-_for crying out loud, Emmett_!"

"NO, NO, NO!"

This was turning out to be much harder than I had expected; if I, an intelligent Southern gentleman, could set aside my pride for state and loyalty, how could a brainless bozo like Emmett not bring himself to do the same? Honestly! I wasn't asking a whole lot here, just that he smile and eat some cookies, not sing like a girl and invite Esme to tea. But he was refusing his task like no other; it was increasingly frustrating, not to mention incredibly irritating. Here I was, trying to give him some kind of greater task in life, but _noooo_...

"Look, Emmett, all I'm asking is for you to be polite and quiet, that's all! No girlishness involved, I promise."

"_No_."

I sighed. "Why not? Why is this so important to you?"

He turned red and mumbled something. I blinked, irritated. "I'm sorry?" He mumbled a little louder and scuffed his feet hungrily. I sighed, agitated. "Look, just spit it out already!"

"Ms. Hale might hear about it!" He bellowed in my face, his flushed with anger and embarrassment.

"...I'm sorry? How does our _teacher _fit into all this?" He went back to mumbling, and I raised an eyebrow in comprehension. "Ah, you're sweet on Ms. Hale," I teased, poking his cheek repeatedly (not a good idea; he was pretty quick about biting me, and man that hurt).

"Can it, sissy boy," he snarled at me as I nursed my finger, cursing under my breath. He smirked; this was an automatic source of worry. "What?" I asked cautiously, leaning back a bit (it never hurts to be safe).

"Isn't that weird that you're so mean about me liking Ms. Hale? Or maybe we should have a talk with Mary Alice?"

_Fuuuuuuuuudge._

"NO, we shouldn't!" I said firmly, pointing my injured finger at him. "Bad horse! Stop it!"

"Well, if you're so set on this cute thing, you must want to go somewhere with it, so why not tell Mary Alice?" _I've created a monster._

I gave him a heavy-lidded look. "You suck."

"Yeah, well...you suck more."

_...WOW._

"Well, this is kind of my last resort! And if I don't get my gun, _you _don't get to beat me up!"

Emmett looked panicked. "But-but-but what will I DO with my life if I can't beat people up! You're my ultimate nemesis!" _'Ultimate nemesis? Who knew he could use such big words?'_

"Look, I don't know! We should just focus on getting my gun, okay?"

"...Okay, fine. But I won't act cute!"

I sighed. "Fine. We'll just have to think of something else."

We brainstormed for a while; we'd tried to act cute, we'd tried to ask directly, we'd tried buttering them up-what else was there?

"What about...MY dad?" _Huh?_

"YOUR dad? What's he got to do with it?"

"Well, he used to be in the military, so he has a gun; and he's super cool-if your parents-"

"Step-parents."

"-Step-parents see how awesome and not-blow-up my dad is, maybe they'll realize that having a gun isn't such a bad thing."

...I'd created a monster _genius_!

"Emmett, that's BRILLIANT!"

"...Really? That's a first..."

"Yeah, I'm not surprised. Anyway-when can we talk to your dad about this?"

"He'll be home on Saturday; he's out hunting grizzlies right now..."

_...What a MAN!_

"Okay. So Saturday, we're heading over to your house and convincing your dad!"

"Right!" We spit and shook on it; then washed our hands.

"And in the meantime, there are cookies here-which, by the laws of nature, must disappear within the next 120 seconds."

"Agreed."

* * *

A/N: I have seriously never had writers block that lasts THIS LONG. I mean, I've been so utterly UNinspired for the past TWO YEARS almost. I mean, I get flashes of inspiration for my novel every once in a while (thank goodness for that) but NOTHING for fanfic. *sigh* What's a girl to do...


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